


We'll Be Younger in the Morning

by hazzahandsome



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Halloween, M/M, Not well thought through., Quickly completed., There's body paint involved., This story has absolutely no point.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazzahandsome/pseuds/hazzahandsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wants to go to a Halloween party - and Zayn would like nothing more than to sit at home and pass out candy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Be Younger in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween. Eat lots of candy. [The title has nothing to do with the story, it's just from Hocus Pocus]
> 
> A little bit of absolutely nothing. I just wrote and posted it - so if it sucks, blame me. I didn't read through it.... Sozz 'bout that. It's really bad....

"We should stay home, ya know," Zayn mumbles from where his face is mashed into the cushions that line the couch. They're scratchy in the worst possible way, with little white buttons that stick out and into your arms when you're just trying to watch a shitty game of footy that's refusing to go your way. The couch is lumpy, as well. Zayn can feel his stomach dipping down and curving up along the shifted fillings underneath the vomit green upholstery. It's making him feel all weird, as it usually does. Seemingly upsetting his body's natural gravity center. Four thousand pounds for a bumpy foam board and deathly throw pillows. He's a multi millionaire who could hire someone who professionally turns houses into untouchable pieces of art. But, none of that matters, because Harry has horrible taste. "Don't wanna be _that_ house," he continues on, knowing that the buttons are more than likely forming tiny little indents all over his face.

It's a great start to the afternoon.

" _What_ house?" Harry counters, and continues digging through all of the bags that he'd been bringing home every other day this week - after heading home from the studio or running to the shop down the road for milk. Or condoms. One of the two.

"The one that doesn't give out candy," Zayn breathes with an air of annoyance. "These little fuckers won't ever let us forget it, if they know what they're doing."

He can hear objects clunking down onto the dining table, one by one, "I don't think it's going to be that big of a deal, Zayn. We'll leave a bowl out. With a sign."

"Amateur move!" he pushes up on the palm of his hands and cranes his neck to see over the back of the couch. "First kid that shows up is going to dump the lot into his bag."

"And I suppose that's what you'd do?"

"Of course," Zayn pushes himself up the rest of the way, to settle onto the back of his heels and rest his head on the back cushions. Harry's organizing all of his things with pleased little concentration. His bottom lip pulled between his teeth and the corner of his mouth raised in a happy grin. Zayn smiles into the pillows for a few seconds. "You're too nice, is what it is," he watches Harry tug open a plastic package. "Come on, babe. What fun is this party anyway, ya know? Like, I'll make sure we have fun _here_."

Harry sets his new head band off to the side and grabs a box of body paint - completely ignoring him, "I think Lou and El are going, too. _Loads_ of people to talk to if you get bored." The directions can't possibly be so confusing, Zayn thinks. Open. Apply. But, the space between Harry's eye brows scrunch together, as he reads over the words on the back. It's cute. But, Zayn's not supposed to have to _find_ people to talk to if he gets bored. He's not supposed to go to things of his own free will that won't offer him any enjoyment. But, Harry's snapping open the top lid of the paint and looking up at him through dark lashes. "The costume's are barely even costumes," he says, low and simple. "Honestly, it'll be a smash."

Zayn pulls himself over the back of the couch, instead of sliding off of the front, and shuffles his way over. He groans into his hands for a few seconds, sighing at his misfortune. "So... what _am_ I?" his voice attempts to push itself through his fingers.

Harry's eyes glow and a wide smile pulls across the span of his face, "You're a God."

"Yeah, Haz, I know that, already. But, what's my _costume_?"

When Zayn peeks through his fingers, Harry has his tongue stuck out under his front teeth and his shaking his head wildly enough the his hair flops about a little bit. "And you say _my_ jokes are shite," he rolls his eyes. Then he shrugs his shoulders and glances Zayn up and down. "I'm going to need you to strip down," he says and rolls the bottle of body paint back a forth in his hands, with a crooked grin.

"See, like, this is what I was talking about," Zayn grips the bottom of his shirt and starts to lift it up over his head. "Don't need to go anywhere to have a nice time."

Harry laughs out, loud and seal like. "We're going to be shiny," he breathes through the huffs of air and starts squeezing gold paint onto a paper plate.

"You _can't_ be serious."

"I _amm_ ," Harry whines. "You're gold," he places the plate flat on the table and begins to tear open a plastic bag of brushes. He grabs the widest. "I'm red... You'll do me later." Zayn raises a brow and flicks out a finger. "Don't even respond to that."

"Okay, fine," Zayn plants his feet in a wide and stable stance and watches Harry swirl the brush around in a a pile of glitter muck. He's been talking about Jonathon's Halloween party since they'd received the invitation a month earlier - and Zayn's been listening just barely, with not nearly as much interest as his boyfriend would've wanted. But, Harry had kept optimistic - positive that it's a huge deal that the pair of them had even been considered, let alone approved. So, Zayn's sat on the couch, at the table, in the bed, while Harry threw outfit ideas around.

And Zayn supposes the fact that he doesn't see any large clothing bags puffed up and full of patterned uncomfortable fabrics, is a good thing. A great thing, really. Because, Harry's aware that he doesn't want to go.

The first stroke of the covered bristles against the skin of his stomach is cool and he shivers as it slides up and down. Harry laughs under his breath and shuffles his feet closer. His toes rest over the tips of Zayn's and his dips his head down to place a small kiss on the tattoo that scribes over his collar bone. "We're going to have a nice time," he breathes for a few seconds - and leans back to get more paint. Zayn stands there as his torso gets coated in a thin layer of paint. It's not very yellow against his skin - more of a light tinting. And Harry isn't going over the carefully stroked streaks to darken them, so Zayn supposes that's how he wants it to look. The glitter is prominent, though. Sparkling out against the living room lights. Jonathon's party is the type that paparazzi hang out outside of. People fight for an invite. And Zayn's going to be mistaken for a Las Vegas edition of Edward Cullen.

As if the entire media world doesn't already think he's enough of a Puff. Zayn's got a certain brand of trust in Harry's plan, though.

And he's been so great at making sure Zayn doesn't get to wound up in all of that talk. It doesn't really matter, any how.

"Close your eyes, now," Harry instructs and Zayn does as he's told.  A smaller brush slides over the surface of his face and it tickles more than the larger bristles did. He feels it slid slowly over his eye lids - delicate and careful. Down the slope of his nose - tucked into a of the nooks and crannies, as to not miss any patch of bare skin. Harry's warm breath puffs across his face, as he works to cover Zayn's ears and neck and lips. He spins when Harry tells him to.

"Eh! Watch those hands," he rolls his neck, when the brush glides down the length of his back. It paints into the dimples at the bottom of his spine, and Harry pushes his trousers down and out of the way to make sure that when Zayn shifts, no one will see a jagged edge.

"I've got you different trousers, anyway," he kicks them away and steps back to look over his work. He shoves the brushes into a bowl of water to rinse out the gold. "Now me."

Zayn reaches out gold tinted hands and squeezes out red glitter paint. His eyes lose their focus, though, when Harry rips his shirt off and soft lean skin is on display in front of him. His jeans go next, and for good measure his pants - leaving himself completely naked in their living room. And Zayn reaches out a hand to smack lightly at the bare skin of Harry's hip, because it's not nice to tempt and tease. "Not fair," he hums and grips the skin there to tug him closer. "Alright, then," Zayn squeezes the water out of the largest brush and dips it into the red. Then he raises his arm, careful not to brush himself against anything - in case he smears, and creates the first line. It's a nice feeling underneath his fingers - the smooth glide of paint against Harry's pale canvas. This paint is just a tint, as well. Giving Harry a faint (but luminescent) red glow. His tattoos are still prominent under the covering. Gleeful butterfly peeking through all of the glitter to stay ever present. Zayn's tattoos look similar underneath his own yellow'd skin. Zayn slides the brush up Harry's arms, around his pecs, in the craters off the bones across his chest, over his neck, around his chin, across his eyes, over his back. He's quicker than Harry was, with him. He produces cleaner strokes, as well. Used to a brush in his hand. "Don't most people have their makeup artists get them ready for Jonathon Ross's party?" Zayn says despite the fact that he's become quite relaxed in the silence, while he's admiring every goose bump - every birth mark.

"Yeah... I guess. Lou's with Lux, though. She and Tom are going trick or treating.... She's Dorothy, Tom's the Scarecrow, and Luxy is the Cowardly Lion." Harry steps away from Zayn and looks down over the work. "I've got a picture on my phone," he tries to reach for it, but Zayn knocks his hands away.

"It's alright. You can show me later, yeah?"

A long sum of minutes later, when their hands have dried, Harry goes to his bags, once more, and starts pulling out their costumes. He was right, they don't even count, really. They're _so_ not real costumes that Zayn feels a bit bad at his initial reluctance to go. To participate. Harry hands him a pair of dark brown jeans (they're literally just jeans) and a off white vest that's made to look like a tunic. Zayn starts to tug them all on and not smudge his paint, while Harry pulls out a pair of black jeans. There's leather patches at the knees. Then he drags on a simple red t-shirt. "I'm.... the... devil," he searches out his headband, that's got two red horns attached, and fits it over his head with a smile.

Zayn reaches out to adjust it so that the horns peek out through his hair and you can't see where they're attached.

And then Harry's carefully placing a half crown of flat gold leaves over Zayn's black hair. "I've got eyeliner, too," he reaches back and Zayn's groan is completely audible. "Heyy, people spend weeks on costumes for Jonathon's party. I'm going easy on you!" And with that Zayn leans back to allow Harry to do what he wants.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Louis and Eleanor are _not_ at this party - Zayn is very much aware of the fact.

The lights are low and there are swirling colors bouncing off all of the walls. The music is loud. It's a large house, much larger than the one he and Harry have bought. And there's people _literally everywhere_. But, Louis and Eleanor are absolutely _not_ present. Zayn clutches at the cell phone in his hand and let's his head fall backwards for a few seconds. His neck hurts. His shoulders ache. Harry's wandered off - high on his joy of everything going on - to find them something to drink. Louis' returning text message sits on the screen of his phone, mocking him: _'We're at a party in Manchester. Don't know what that tosser is on.'_

Everyone's minds.

That's what Harry's on.

That's what Harry is _always_ on.

And this is one of the reasons why Zayn didn't want to go out, tonight. This is one of the reasons he wanted to watch Hocus Pocus and eat fettuccini on the sofa and hand out candy to little kids dressed as Buzz Light Year and tiny versions of One Direction. Because, no matter how cool the decorations are - no matter how happy everyone around him seems - no matter how good the food - or the drink. This is a _job_ , when it all breaks down into it. It's not a party. Not really. Famous actors, musicians, and everything in between coming up and asking about their up coming tour, is not a party. Anything where he and Harry have to be on their best behavior, without seeming like they're on their best behavior, is _not_ a party.

He's at work, right now. Glorified and bedazzled work. Which, Zayn reckons, is much different than any other work event. Except this one's a trap in disguise. Reeking of scandalize tabloid headlines for tomorrow morning, if they step a toe out of line. Someone (or many someone's) is just _waiting_ to see something they shouldn't.

They've been weaving in and out of Rabbits and Princesses and Zombies and Footballers and Playboy Bunnies and Spice Girls and Ninjas and everything else people have thought of, for more than two hours. And it doesn't matter that Harry is publically in a relationship for the first time in two years. And it doesn't matter that the person he's _in_ that relationship with is literally standing and _sparkling_ right next to him.

Anyone and everyone has stopped him to say hi.

Harry tends to have that effect.

People are dancing really closely together, which Zayn is usually all for. But, tonight, it just feels like a lot of celebrities in bloody masks or tight dresses are touching him when he hasn't told them they could. It feels sticky in a way he doesn't appreciate. Tonight, everything feels _too_ loud. The music is thumping heavily against the walls. It's shaking the floor boards, sending his shoes into vibration. He feels too young, to feel this out of place. Only a few weeks prior, he, Harry, and Niall had stayed in a night club in New York until the wee hours of the morning, so it can't be this violent of a switch.

It should be fun, watching people fall over themselves to impress Harry. When all they really have to do is compliment him on his great paint job, and somehow he's sold into a long winded conversation about the migration of geese. It usually is.

Zayn twists his phone rhythmically in his hands, to the swell of the music. A club beat is filling the room - mixtures of popular top forty hits chopped next to spooky howls.

It's been fifteen minutes since he last saw Harry, and in slew of seeming the clingy type - he's hung back for a little while. But, if everything feels uninteresting and _wrong_ , he'd prefer to feel that way with someone who'll go leaps and bounds out of their way to make him enjoy himself.

And the drunkies currently surrounding him on the couch he's sat on are not those types of people.

He lifts himself from his seat and starts through the crowded rooms. He sees people he knows, and greets them on his way past. Zayn's not sure what he expected from Jonathon Ross when he'd first plucked the invitation out of their post box. But, a glorified frat party hadn't ever crossed his mind. It'd actually be pretty funny to see one of The Saturdays doing a keg stand. Zayn runs into somebody for the thirtieth time, and struggles to get through another batch of people. He finds himself in a front room he'd not seen, yet. Holly _Willoughby_ is dressed like a cat and her face is shoved in a gigantic bucket of water. Red apples bobbing with the flush of water. A crowd is stood around her and encouraging her on. _Including_ Harry, who's laughing with the person next to him and holding onto two bottles of beer. Zayn continues through bundles of costumes and masks, until he's sliding up next to his boyfriend and pulling his designated beer out of his hands. "People _really_ bob for apples?" he asks, as he places the flat underside of his chin on the back of Harry's shoulders.

"Yeah! _Great_ right!?" Harry turns and kisses the side of Zayn's forehead. He shuffles himself, so that they're much closer and he's able to wrap an arm around Zayn's shoulders. "Are you having fun yet, Zee?" he asks, with such an earnest face that Zayn sighs internally and knocks his head against Harry's.

"Yeah...." he nods, so that Harry can feel it, as well as see it. "Jonathon's got good taste in music."

Harry chuckles and runs red fingers over Zayn's far shoulder, "I've got a feeling that he didn't pick out _anything_ in this house."

"That is very true,"  Zayn nods and purses his lips. "Us rich folk just can't be bothered."

"Exactly," Harry agrees - his dimple getting deeper and deeper. "How can one expect us to? It's just _rude_ , really."

Zayn turns his gaze to Holly, who's hair is getting far wetter than she probably wants and who's getting some gazes from some of the sleazier actors present. The music is alright, Zayn supposes. And there's a lot of free drinks. "Okay...." Harry's voice sounds near his ear. It's quiter than it was before - not trying quite as hard to be heard over the blaring speakers. Just for him to hear. " _Are_ you having fun, yet?" Zayn doesn't say anything for a little while. Holly is pulling herself out of the water, with an apple clenched between her top and bottom set of teeth - and someone Zayn's never seen before is taking her place. Harry's shining under the lights and so is he. He's got a cold beer in his hands.

Would he rather be situated on the couch, watching a horror movie. and snogging Harry on and off, while he has to get up and answer the door to pass out sugary sweets to cute little kids covered in sheets? Sure. Of course. But, all in all, Zayn supposes he's not having as bad of a time as his brain is trying to make him this he is. At least, he's not for Harry. "Mhmm," he hums, just as low. "Am thinking about what I want to do at home, though."

Harry's eyebrows quirk and Zayn laughs a little, because he looks ridiculous. There's glitter everywhere - in places they hadn't initially put it. Harry's hair is is sparkling, despite the fact that neither of them sprayed anything. "What do you want to do?"

"The little kids. Ghost costumes. Passing out candy."

"You want to _do_ little kids? In ghost costumes?" Harry leans back to look Zayn in the eye. ".... Do we need to have a talk?"

"Hahaha," Zayn shakes his head. "'Bit tired, sorry," he makes to correct himself. "I was thinking about just... hanging out."

"Really?" Harry starts backwards, dragging them both away from the bulk of people. He spins them around and pushes Zayn up, this time, until his back makes contact with a wall. To get a ways away from the cheering crowd. "You want to hang out when we get back?"

"Yeah," Zayn looks up to meet Harry's eyes. They're almost the exact same height as each other. But, Harry's got one or two inches. Their stylist probably knows the exact measurements, but Zayn sure as fuck doesn't. Harry leans down and brushes his lips along the skin by Zayn's ear. "We can do that," He kisses it softly, before pulling back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry's dragging him up the drive way - his hand clutching Zayn's tightly - with a excited grin gracing his face. He cackles drunkenly when he trips backwards over the porch steps and starts to bring them both down. "Fuck'n hell, Harry," Zayn whispers loadly and tries to catch them both, before they bash their heads open on the cement. They do end up making contact with the ground,  but it doesn't hurt as much as either of them anticipates. While they're there, Zayn's focus pulls to the left - to the bowl on the ground. There's a piece of paper that was taped onto it before they left, with Harry's scrawl: _'Take one! Or even **two**! Happy Halloween!' _

The bowl is empty, of course.

"Do ya see this?" Zayn grabs the bowl and shows Harry the candy less pit. " _Such_ a fuck'n amateur."

Then, he leans down and places his lips over Harry's, who's giggles get stiffened without another second passing. "Come on, then," Zayn grunts and drags Harry and himself up and off of the ground.

Harry fumbles with the keys for a few seconds, but eventually he's shoving open the front door and dragging both of them inside. There's no lights on anywhere, which Zayn has just realized was a terrible idea of them. Empty houses are magnets for toliet paper and eggs, on Halloween. But, nothing was on the outside of their home, so the thought passes as soon as it arrives. "Focus," Harry whines into the crook of Zayn's neck - where he's been nipping softly at the skin there. His teeth pinch particularly deep and Zayn hisses in response, before redirecting Harry's mouth to his own. He presses there, both hands framing the sides of Harry's face, until Harry makes another noise that kills Zayn's gut.

Harry licks once at the Zayn's bottom lip, before pulling away. He smirks small, dimples looking far less innocent than they are usually - and peels off his t-shirt. Harry doesn't say anything as he walks away, and Zayn watches, as he starts up the stairs. He can't see him anymore, but his black trousers come falling down the steps. Zayn laughs under his breath, because it's a trail he intends to follow.

He takes the stairs two at a time and heads down the hallway to their bedroom. Harry's crouched over the side table's drawer, digging his hands around until they make contact with the small bottle that's there. "It was... a nice party," Harry breathes and crawls up onto the bed. Zayn stops being stupid and pulls his vest off, as well. Then he snaps the button of his jeans and starts to shove them down his legs.

One of the legs get caught on the heel of his foot and he starts stumbling in his attempt to get them off, and before he can stop himself, he goes towering down. Harry's responding laugh is multiplied remarkably loud in the quiet room - and Zayn pulls himself up to glare. "Ay, shut up."

"You're _cute_ ," Harry's giggles continue, until Zayn reaches up to grap his ankles and tug his body down the length of the bed.

"And your costume is _perfect_ ," Zayn grumbles and licks a strip of skin just above Harry's black pants. A trail of goose bumps follow the path of his tongue. "The _Devil_ , all right."

He travels his way up to Harry's mouth, kissing along the lines of his stomach on the pathway. Then Zayn gets where he wants to, pulling Harry up into him, licking decidedly into his mouth. "Let's- Can you-" Harry breaks away - hot air grazing the side of Zayn's neck. He can feel Harry pressing up against him, hard and waiting for something to happen. Zayn continues to kiss him, while reaching down and pressing the flat of his palm over Harry's dick and he smiles into Harry's mouth at his answering groan.

Three fingers later, Zayn is lining himself up at Harry's entrance and carefully pushing inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zayn takes the final thrusts that he needs to pull him over the edge, and drops down onto Harry's chest. He closes his eyes, sighing in the rise and fall, as Harry takes each deep breath. Zayn kisses his skin, lazily, and huffs a breathless laugh when he looks around them. Harry's red paint is completely smeared with sweat and exhaustion. Hand prints of two different sizes pushed and pulled along both of their skin. The sheets are orange. " _You're_ washing these, ya know?" Zayn smiles into the crook of Harry's neck, who's playing with the hair at the bottom of his neck. "Like, it was your idea to paint us these fuck'n colors."

" _Heeyy_. We had the best look there!"

He looks so happy and comfortable. Hair disheveled and eyes droopy and warm. Zayn reaches out and places his hand over Harry's chest and presses until another print is formed. "Sure we were, babe."

They lay there for a few minutes, before Harry's toes start to nudge against his. Purposefully kicking until Zayn gives him his full attention. "I'm hungry," Zayn listens to Harry speak. "Food? Rocky Horror Picture Show?"

Zayn drags himself up and runs a hand through his hair. It comes out even more shiney than it went it, "Sounds great."

**Author's Note:**

> It gets rushed at the end, because I remembered that I can't really write - but I wanted /something/ up by Halloween. Okie Dokie. Love you guys. Sorry, once again....


End file.
